


How to Sail a Stolen Ship

by ConstancePenman



Category: Sam & Max, Sam & Max: Freelance Police, Sam & Max: Hit the Road
Genre: Adoption, As in the crime not the franchise, Could be either but I think max works better, Grand theft auto, How to guide, M/M, POV Max, POV Second Person, Second (or third or fourth) honeymoon, There's a rich jerk, They've been married for a long time, US Legalization of Same-Sex Marriage, With a lot of boats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 15:56:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11421279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstancePenman/pseuds/ConstancePenman
Summary: You've done the whole honeymoon gig before. Some crime, a dash of battle, a tad too much snoring--at this point you have it down to a T. Now that you and your partner are actually, officially, legally married (not that the law applies to you all that much), it's time for another honeymoon, this time with a lot of crime, not nearly enough battle, and constant snoring. There could be nothing better.





	How to Sail a Stolen Ship

**Author's Note:**

> I had an assignment to write a how-to guide at least ten steps long. So obviously I had to make it Sam & Max! Anyway that's why it's in second person, how-to guides tend to do that. Hope you enjoy!

How to Sail a Stolen Ship

    Step one: Steal the ship. This is crucial to the process. If you have already stolen the ship, you may skip to step two. If not, follow these tips:

    1. Find the dock of a rich jerk. If the loss is ever discovered (which their surplus of boats will guarantee it will not be), no one will care. They will buy another boat; you will not be found.

  1. Giggle as you climb aboard. Do not laugh, it will be too loud. Do not chuckle, you have never been able to pull off a chuckle no matter what your partner tells you. Giggle. Giggle like you are a child, like you are a highschool cheerleader, like you aren’t committing grand theft auto for the third time this year.
  2. Pretend you know how to hotwire a ship. Hide your sigh of relief when your partner refuses to let you try. Try not to laugh when he inserts the key and gives you a cheesy grin. Facepalm to hide your smile. (Note: you will not effectively be hiding your smile. This is on purpose. If your partner thought you did not like his jokes, he would stop making them.)
  3. See if you can find any alcohol on board. You will not, but you will discover that this is not the rich jerk’s ship but her eldest child’s. You will discover this because of the room filled with vintage guitars inscribed with her name in the handwriting of the famous. Pretend you can play the guitar. Strum out “Chopsticks.” When your partner begins to get annoyed, stop. When he relaxes, begin to play “What’s New Pussycat.” You will not remember the order of the chords, or when the song is supposed to end, but that’s okay. He won’t either.
  4. Notice the sun is rising while you are up on deck. Drag your partner up so he can see it too. Whisper in his ear to pretend that you are riding into the sunset. He will whisper back something you are sure is disgustingly romantic and sappy, but you will never be certain, as he whispers too quiet and too far from your ear. Pretend you did hear him. Pretend to try and kiss him on the cheek, then kiss him on his mouth. He will laugh while you kiss. This is your favorite laugh.



    Step two: Congratulations, you have stolen a boat. You will not be found and ships have always been so romantic. Remind your partner of your first honeymoon, a roadtrip across America. He will ask you if this can possibly compare. Say something sappy that only he could ever appreciate. He could ruin you with this. He will not. This is love.

    Step three: Realize neither of you have any clue how to actually sail a boat. You will be a maximum of six miles out from the dock. Find a manual. When your partner isn’t looking, tear it up. Instructions are for chumps.

    Step four: Figure out how to sail by yourself. You will fail, but your partner will be amused. He will try to help. Your sailing will only get worse. You will make a joke about tricks and old dogs. He will be offended and decide loudly not to help, but he will sit near you and make sure you are still progressing and will be okay. You have had this exchange before. It never gets boring. Nothing ever gets boring here.

    Step five: While he is asleep, attempt to ignore his snores. Try to sleep. Count the years you've spent with him, like sheep, laying them out before you. When you finish, go backwards. This shouldn’t be harder. It will be. When you get to the seventies you will lose count. You can no longer remember when you stopped being childhood friends and started being married. You wonder vaguely if there was ever a difference as you fall asleep.

    Step six: Find old champagne. Your partner will complain that warm champagne is disgusting. You will tell him that it is alcoholic, and everything alcoholic gets better as it gets warmer. This is not true. He will remain skeptical. Smile wryly and tell him that alcohol is a lot like him in that. He will roll his eyes and open the bottle for you.

    Step seven: Warm champagne is disgusting.

    Step eight: Eventually you will tire of the sea. You will want to go home. He will point out that you never kept track of where you were going and exactly how will you find your way back? You will panic briefly, interrupted by the sight of land: the dock you stole the boat from. He will ask if you were sailing _away_ and you will shrug.

    Step nine: Try to return the boat. The space where you found it is now filled with a newer, better ship. Make the unanimous decision that the eldest child must miss the old boat and that you should swap them out, keeping the new one for yourselves. This will be in the top five best decisions you will ever make.

    Step ten: Ask your local diner owner if you can park your boat in her dock. She will agree immediately. The boat will disappear, but her gratitude will not.

    Step eleven: Show the adoption agency your newly legal marriage papers. Nine months later (point this out for the rest of your natural life, it will never get boring. Nothing ever gets boring here), you will have a daughter. This will also be in the top five best decisions you will ever make (number one).


End file.
